


Lord send me a mechanic (if I'm not beyond repair)

by andimeantittosting (Saylee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Crying During Sex, Developing Relationship, Emotional Sex, Episode: s13e06 Tombstone, Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, First Kiss, Hopeful Ending, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post-Michael Possession, Sex on the Impala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting
Summary: It will be a long time until Cas stops feeling like Dean is slipping through his fingers, until he stops remembering the way he had shattered when Michael took Dean, but Dean’s hands – rough, strong, work-calloused hands – help put him back together.





	Lord send me a mechanic (if I'm not beyond repair)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [wetkitchenpaint](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitchenpaint/pseuds/wetkitchenpaint) for beta reading.

There is a handprint over Cas’s heart, thick, black engine grease smeared where Dean had clutched him, arm curling around him to hold him back-to-chest. Cas’s shirt, discarded on the floor, is unsalvageable. 

There’s another smear, less defined, on his hipbone where Dean grips him now. His clean hand strokes Cas roughly as he bites kisses into his back and shoulders. Cas tightens his thighs together so Dean can thrust between them.

Cas rocks forward and braces against the hood of the Impala, which Dean had hastily slammed shut when their lesson on car maintenance had devolved into frantic kissing – as most things do these days. Cas had been frantic enough that he’d been ready to bend over the engine itself, but that had only seemed to anger Dean.

“For fuck’s sake, Cas,” he’d growled, fisting Cas’s half-open shirt in his hand. “Have some goddamn self-preservation.” Without letting go of Cas, he’d slammed the hood shut, spun him around and bent him over it, somehow tearing off the ruined shirt in the process.

“Dean,” Cas had gasped, and, “Shut up,” Dean had growled, hauling him upright again to kiss him fiercely, the engine grease on his hand marking Cas’s skin the way Dean has already seared his mark into Cas’s fledgling soul.

*****

_Dean had first kissed him like this in the aftermath of Michael, mouth harsh and hands restless and desperate._

_That’s not strictly true. Dean had kissed him before, once, when he’d returned from the Empty. Cas had waited for it to happen again, but then Jack had taken off, and there had been Asmodeus and Lucifer to contend with, and the argument about Donatello, and the mission to rescue Mary and Jack, and nothing had happened. Eventually, Cas had written it off as a fluke._

_And then Dean had said yes to Michael, and Cas’s world had shattered._

*****

“Cas,” Dean groans into his skin. “Cas, Cas.” There’s the edge of a sob in his voice. 

Cas is falling apart, flying apart, scrabbling to get a better grip on the car. His cheeks are wet, and he doesn’t know when that happened, only knows the weight of Dean’s body holding him down, the heat of his hands holding him together.

*****

_The aftermath of Michael._

_Cas had come to on his back in a blasted out cornfield in Missouri. He’d stared up at the blue, blue sky, marvelling that the Earth had not been destroyed, marvelling at the way he now felt – hollowed out, but free. He pulled air into his human lungs. In, out. In, out. And then a figure was kneeling over him, and his rhythm faltered, breath catching in his throat._

_“Dean,” he croaked, eyes filling with tears._

_As if Cas’s voice had broken a spell, Dean’s hands were suddenly all over him, cupping his cheek, running over his chest, inexplicably checking him for injuries as if he had been the one who’d spent months possessed by a wrathful archangel._

_But Dean was there. There and whole and alive. Cas hauled himself into a sitting position, pulling Dean into a hug, right there in the blackened dirt, clutching him hard, unwilling to let go. Dean held him right back, whispering, “Cas, you dumbass. Your grace.”_

*****

The garage smells of engine oil and sex. Dean shifts and his foot catches on a discarded wrench, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. 

Cas’s thighs are sticky with Dean’s precome when Dean pulls away, and he knows he’s made a mess of Baby’s hood. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. Instead he hauls Cas back up, turning him in his arms so he can kiss him for all he’s worth, deep and possessive.

His hand cups Cas’s cheek, leaves a faint grease smear on his cheekbone and comes away wet.

“Cas–?” he starts, holding up his hand, but Cas can’t stop, can’t talk about this. He shakes his head, pulling Dean with him by his open coveralls as he climbs backwards onto the hood. Dean crawls over him eagerly, and Cas tugs his mouth down to meet his again, his hands shoving the coveralls off his shoulders, off his body, and with his open jeans.

Dean gathers them both in his hand and jacks them together. Cas’s senses are full of nothing but Dean, Dean, Dean.

“Dean,” he begs. “I need– I need–” 

His head whirls.

*****

_After they’d picked themselves up out of the dirt, they’d trudged to the car to begin the trek back towards the bunker. Cas had driven the Impala to the confrontation, taking off with it in the night when neither Sam or Mary could argue about him going alone. Dean hadn’t said anything about it._

_He hadn’t said anything for a long time, the silence in the car growing tenser and tenser as the light through the windshield turned orange, then red, then started to dim._

_He had grit his teeth when Cas had finally ventured to suggest they stop at a motel, and Cas hadn’t understood why, hadn’t understood why Dean’s knuckles had turned white where he gripped the steering wheel when Cas had said he was tired, hoping to spare Dean from the suggestion that Dean might be weakened from his ordeal._

_And he_ was _tired, but not too tired to react when Dean had pushed him up against the wall of heir motel room, a thigh shoved between his own, his kiss all teeth and anger._

_“What the hell were you thinking?” he growled, biting his way along Cas’s jaw. “He could have killed you.”_

_“I was thinking’” Cas gritted out, hauling Dean up by the hair, “that he could have killed_ you _.” He gave back as good as he’d gotten, mouth unforgiving against Dean’s. “I thought you were gone, Dean I thought you were–”_

_To his horror, he had begun weeping, and Dean’s hands suddenly went gentle, soothing him, pulling him against him._

_“Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

*****

Cas’s eyes and hair are wild, and he shudders and quakes beneath Dean.

“Almost there, baby,” Dean murmurs against his throat. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Eyes wide, gasping for breath, Cas spills hot and sticky between them.

*****

_They’d finally slept that night, wrapped together in scratchy motel sheets, longer and deeper than Cas could ever remember sleeping the last time he was human_

_He’d woke the next morning, prepared to forget anything had ever happened, but then Dean had kissed him under the rusty overhang of a gas station shortly after they had crossed into Kansas, and again outside the diner they’d stopped at for lunch._

_He’d tried to step back once they arrived back at the bunker for Dean to be mobbed by his other loved ones, but Dean had insisted on crediting Cas for the rescue, and had dragged him into his room that night in full view of Sam and Mary and Bobby._

*****

Dean is braced above Cas, his hand on Cas’s heart as he strokes himself. Cas’s come leaves a second sticky handprint over the existing one. 

Still dazed from his orgasm, Cas can do little more than clutch at Dean’s bicep and gaze up at him. Dean is magnificent like this, muscles straining, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes so intent on Cas’s own that he can feel himself melting.

“Look at you,” Dean says, wonder in his voice. “Look at you. Cas–”

His eyes go wide as he comes, gaze never leaving Cas’s face even as he pulses between them.

“Oh god, Cas,” he pants at last, letting himself collapse messy against Cas’s chest.

*****

_Dean had been illuminated by a neon cross, and Cas hadn’t known what to make of the look on his face as they stood there staring at each other. Worn as he was from trudging through blackberry thickets and fields and along dusty roads until he had finally, finally found a payphone, Cas didn’t immediately register that Sam was there, too._

_“Cas,” Dean had found his voice at last, “is that really you?”_

_“No,” Sam had denied. “You’re dead.”_

_Unsure how to explain what had happened to him in the Empty, Cas faltered. “Yeah, I was. But then I… annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that he sent me back.”_

_Sam shook his head minutely. “I don’t even know what to say.”_

_After a long moment, Dean rasped, “I do. Welcome home, pal.” His arms closed around Cas in a tight embrace, and Cas found himself blinking back tears._

_–––_

_It was a long drive back to the bunker, and eventually they stopped for gas. While Sam stepped inside to pay, Dean surprised Cas by pulling him out of sight, ticked between a stack of propane tanks and an ice cooler.”_

_He didn’t say anything, just framed Cas’s face in his hands, letting his eyes roam over him as if to memorize him. He swallowed hard, and wordlesly fit his mouth over Cas’s own._

_Cas gasped into the unexpected kiss, shaking hands coming up to grasp Dean’s shoulders. Dean was shaking, too, and Cas could feel wetness on his cheeks that he didn’t think had come from himself._

_With a harsh sound, Dean broke away, struggling for air between the tears he couldn’t fight. He leaned their foreheads together, and Cas linked their hands in a gentle grip._

_“Never do that again,” Dean said wetly, and Cas had smiled despite his own damp eyes._

_“I’ll do my best,” he promised._

*****

Sticky and sweaty, they lay wrapped around each other on the hood of the Impala. Dean’s hand runs in soothing lines up and down Cas’s side. 

“You doing okay now?” he asks quietly. 

It will be a long time until Cas stops feeling like Dean is slipping through his fingers, until he stops remembering the way he had shattered when Michael took Dean, but Dean’s hands – rough, strong, work-calloused hands – help put him back together. When they are together like this, he doesn’t feel like he’s losing him.

“I’m alright,” he says, voice scratchy. He smiles tentatively, and lets Dean twine their fingers together, uncaring of the state they’re in.

Dean, however notices, because he eyes Cas up and remarks, “Jesus, Cas, you’re filthy.” Gingerly, he gets to his knees and half-shuffles, half-slides his way off the car, reaching out a hand once he’s on his feet to help Cas off the hood.

He eyes the mess they’ve made of Baby with some chagrin. “So much for the engine maintenance lesson,” he sighs. “Looks like I’m showing you how to wash her properly instead. But let’s go shower first.”

–––

The grease comes off their skin with a gritty citrus-smelling soap, but they stand in the water long after they’re clean, pressed together skin to skin, repairing each others’ broken pieces.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from The Mountain Goats song Psalms 40:2. I encourage you to go listen to it for some lyrics that are perfect for Destiel.


End file.
